A Mystery Within The Music
by Balletdancer202
Summary: Madeline De Chagny is the daughter of Christine and Raoul. She moves from France to Manhattan without understanding why. She ventures out into the city one night and finds the Manhattan Opera House. There, she meets Master, the strange and secretive owner. When Madeline takes part in an Opera written by Master, she discovers that things may not be as they seem to be.
1. The Arrival

**A/N: This is my sequel to the 2004 Phantom film (with possible hints at other Phantom works). However, I do not own Phantom of the Opera and or Love Never Dies. This will be the only time I will disclaim it, so that the story may continue onwards. Please R/R (read and review) so that I may add changes or improve should I need to. But Please Be Nice about it. Thank You, my fellow readers!**

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The Arrival

As the carriage pulls us up and down the street of Manhattan, I realize that no longer are we in a place of familiarity. I see the cold gray street lights and foggy atmosphere, so stark in contrast to the Paris skyline I had grown up in all my 16 summers. When we moved the year was 1886. In two years I would be headed my own way, and had wanted to finish the remainder of my childhood in France. But Mama and Papa had decided it would be best to move to America.

Mama's popularity as a bel canto singer grew more and more and she could make an American debut here. I was heartbroken to leave the world I had grown so used to, but Mama always insisted to me "it's for the best." So, with an infertile scorn on my face I chose to leave with Mama, Papa, Grandmother, and my aunt.

"Five minutes and your destination will be reached, Madame," says the driver who is directing the reins of his steeds. I notice that it will be raining soon, and gather my cloak further around my small shoulders. I look over at Mama, who holds her cloak in her lap, her long sleeves ready to protect her pale arms from the rains. Mama's slender hand reaches to grasp mine, and I take it in hers. "It's for the best, Madeline," Mama says again. I look into Mama's eyes and I want so desperately to believe her.

She smiles at me, as if wanting to persuade me more. I was not good at adjusting to things, and this was one of them. I would miss my governess and piano teacher, Miss Lillian. I would miss strolling about the small little town I called home each morning. I would miss everything.

"Mama, why did we move?" I ask. I am persistent with this question. Mama looks at me. "It's time for a fresh start, darling, to build new memories." I loved the memories I already had, memories of love and life.

I look out the window and notice that the place that we are going to appears abandoned, for there are no other houses in sight and all I can see is fog and the clouds above, along with the occasional street lamps. I twist and turn; surely it appears as though we are lost. "Monsieur, are you sure we are headed to the right place?" I ask. "Madeline!" Mama scolds as though I have insulted him beyond all human endurance. "Of course he knows where we are going," she begins. I lay my head back against the seat, dreading the infernal scolding and lecture coming out of her mouth. "I'm terribly sorry, Monsieur," Mama apologizes, and I am slightly shocked, because I expected her to make me apologize to him. Of course, he says nothing and gruffly returns to directing his steeds.

The eerie feeling begins to scare me. I wonder if we are in the right place.

Soon, the house looms before us. It appears as to have come from a cemetery. Its white walls and large iron gate with brass knockers. The carriage makes an abrupt stop, and we wait. The driver opens the door for Mama and I; Mama steps out with her usual delicate airy movements, and I mimic her, going around the carriage to her side. "Mademoiselle, the money," he demands curtly. I stiffen at Mama's side as she gives him the money for our ride from the dock to here.

I take in all my breath at once, letting my ignorance come back to haunt me. I should have prepared myself better for this moment, the moment I realize that I am officially here. I am past the point of no return, and can't go back.

Mama moves up the stone side-way to the brass gate, which she opens. I pause at the sound of the heavily creaking doors as they open like arms pulling us into an embrace. Mama smiles and lifts the hem of her dress as she walks up the stairs to the doors. Taking out the new house key, Mama carefully slides it into the lock and pushes open the door. She pauses in the doorway for a moment, staring at me with her warm eyes. She motions me up the stairs, and reluctantly, I take dainty steps until I stand there with her.

We gaze in awe at the home which we now resided. The small, round foyer hung a beautiful chandelier from the ceiling, its crystals made from elegant Swarovski, the floors a beautiful marble reflecting the light from the candles. The grand staircase stood elegantly in front of us; the handrails of elegant wiring. To our right was the room where the grand piano stood. I stared at the cherry wood piano that I had played since I was three; it was still in a good working use despite the long travel by boat. Through another door was the fainting room. The parlor was to our left, and through there was the great hall and great chamber. After the great chamber came the drawing room, and down a hall came the pantry, kitchen, dining room, and butler's pantry. In the back of the house was the grand ballroom, which took away my breath whenever I saw it. Upstairs was the long hall, from which our state rooms were. On a second wing was the servants hall for the important servants, and then another for the others. I could see the second ballroom, and from there another room that descended off, where Aunt Meg used for dancing. In a third wing were three guest rooms, and in a room next to that was Papa's library and study.

Mama and I explore the house on our own terms. I walk quietly, noticing every last nook and cranny. The house had been decorated in the latest Parisian style, and that I savored, as I still hung to my roots like a rose. Finally, I explored my room.

The large queen bed was echoed by two large windows with pale curtains that fluttered like delicate butterfly wings and the large white and pink silk canopy the felt as thick as drapery. Across from there was the large fireplace. Near the fireplace were couches on the walls and sitting chairs. My glass table that had the 'M' in one of the legs was covered by a silk tablecloth. On the wall near my bed were my two armories, one for clothes and the other for dancing. In the corner was my stationary desk, and on the wall was my vanity, and contained with it were my powders, perfumes, and brush.

I look and see a box with the word FRAGILE on it. Knowing what is in this box; I grab it and lift it onto my bed. I open it and the family portrait is bestowed before me. There we are, sitting elegantly posed and proper: Aunt Meg with her blond hair pulled back, in a light pink dress suiting her slim figure, Grandmother, her hair in a braided bun, her black dress with a broach at the collar, Papa, his blue eyes so like my own staring back at me, yet his just a bit darker than my icy blues, Mama, her hair combed back with an assortment of pins to keep the wild curls in place, her white dress working well with her pale skin and dark features. And lastly, me. Sitting in a perfect center between Mama and Papa, I sat with my white gown with the long bodice and pooling skirt, with only a silk shawl about my shoulders. My long blond curls spilled about it, just so elegantly placed about the silk that clung to my small features.

We had sat only in candlelight, and as that painter worked a fortnight, Mama paid him thirty francs when the job was done. Mama said that after the long journey, I could have it, since in their chambers was their wedding portrait.

I sit on my bed and stare around. Everything in this room belonged to me, yet it wasn't in the order I was used to, or in the same room. I had lived in the same house for sixteen years, the same area. That quaint but huge room had saw me overjoyed and depressed, sick and well. It had been the room where each night when I was little, Mama sang me lullabies before sending me to sleep. It had been the room where I had said my first words, and walked, and ran, exploring the little things that were equivalent to triumph at that age.

I sigh, trying to take in everything. Gradually, I come back to Earth with the sound of Mama's voice calling me. "Madeline!" I hear. I dash up from my bed to meet her down the stairs. She is waiting down on the last stair and I meet her on the one before, standing erect and taller, although she is just a bit taller. Mama frequently says I get my height from Papa.

"Madeline, I have received word that the Queen Mary will be re-docking at nine with Aunt Meg and Grandmother. They will be here at half past and we will wait for them, alright?" I nod after Mama finishes and stands on the floor. "Madeline, I know how anxious you are, but please do not go out and see the city until all of us are here. Papa will be detained, sadly, but he should be here by afternoon tomorrow. Promise me you won't go out into Manhattan until then, because then we could all go." I return her wishes and she nods in satisfactory. "The servants should be here later tonight, and your father's and my servants to stay near us in the first wing." I nod and she begins to go up the stairs to explore the rest of the house. I, in turn, go to the great chamber and sit upon one of the couches. I sigh and close my eyes, feeling the eerie emptiness of the house without Grandmother, Aunt Meg, and Papa.

I decide to head to my room, and rush there as stealthily as I can. Changing from my dress to my leotards and _pointes, _I rush to the dance room that will become Aunt Meg's. I warm up at the _barre_, doing the _plie_ combination, the _releve_ combination, the _tendu _combination, and the _rond de jambe au teir. _The fact that I know these combinations by heart makes it easy that I do not need the musical accompaniment. Grandmother was pleased I decided to take up ballet, and she thought it could lead to my career as a dancer. But I only dance to pass my time.

Time passes. I could have been dancing for hours on end. My _pointes_ don't look too ruined, and my body doesn't ache now, but I simply can expect that in the daylight hours to come. I go to one of the nearest windows and look outside. The rain did come, it is pouring like sobs. I wonder how Aunt Meg and Grandmother are doing. I hope the boat won't have any complications to it, and that they shall both be okay.

After dancing rigorously, I go into my room and lay down, trying to sort out the emotions running high in my system. I look around, but the only thing that appeals to me is the desk with my pen, paper, and spiral bound notebook. Summoned to it, I sit down in the chair and open the book. It is empty, breathing with new sheets of paper for my thoughts. Sighing, I grab the pen and begin to write.

I've felt alone. I've never felt so abandoned to my feelings. Mama and Papa insist on the change, but I feel alone… as usual. They've never confided in me, as if they cannot trust me. Why is it that I feel alone every night, left only to music? Miss Lillian couldn't come with us, having received a better job for a young girl in England. She was the one person I could confide in when I needed her.

I cannot say how long I could keep my promise to Mama about going out to see Manhattan later tonight, something I used to do in Paris since I was eleven and learned how to open a locked window. It is near night, surely the nightingales shall be calling out their songs soon enough once the twilight hours have come and gone. I guess I must wait until my aunt and Grandmother arrive.

I know I am droning. I do not wish to; nor do I wish to complain and act as if I were I spoiled child, but merely do I wish to bestow an opinion. I had left my whole life behind, for reasons I cannot explain.

After I finish the word, I realize that this is what I am feeling; I have written it and cannot undo it. I look at the ink on the paper, and it seems to set itself. It cannot be erased. It is as final as death.

I get up and go to my bed. Laying on it, I stared at the family portrait. How I wished for the simpler times in Paris!

With that final lament, my eyes shut, condemning me to a sleep so deep that all I can hear is the sound of my thoughts.


	2. The Arrival II

Not Alone Anymore

**A/N: I would like to give thanks to my first reviewers Mimi9516 and RedDeathLvr. You guys inspired me to write. I cannot thank you enough! Please keep reviewing.**

**Here's the next chapter of AMWTM!**

"Madeline, Madeline, wake up!" I hear. I open my eyes to see Mama hovering over me, shaking my shoulders. "Mama?" I ask. "Why are you-?"

"Madeline, Grandmother and Aunt Meg will be here soon, and I want you to be ready," Mama answers. I look at her confusingly. "How long did I sleep, Mama?"

"About three to four hours, give or take. Hurry," she says, pausing to kiss my forehead. "They'll be here any minute now, my dear."

"Mama?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"After we eat…can I…play…to make it…official? If you get my…meaning."

She nods. "Of course."

She leaves to give me privacy and I strip of my dance garments and put them in my clothing basket. I change into a large white sleeved gown and heels, and tighten the corset just as I hear Mama's voice calling me. I race down the hallway to find her standing in the foyer, beneath the large Swarovski chandelier. She is the picture of all that is elegant in her light blue chiffon gown. I race down the stairs, my feet lightly _tip-tapping _on the large, wide steps as I step onto the floor, feeling like Cinderella having made her grand entrance. We hear a knock. They are here.

Mama goes and gets the door, and out on the veranda are my aunt and grandmother. They look weary, and I daresay that I blame them. Our boat ride was long and dull, and only when we arrived on the New York Docks did I feel that I had truly left Paris.

"Meg!" Mama cheerfully cries, wrapping her arms around her. Aunt Meg envelops her in a hug, and she brightens upon seeing my mother. Aunt Meg comes into our new home and finds me standing there. "Maddy!" I nearly roll my eyes in annoyance. Aunt Meg is truly the only one who calls me "Maddy" even though I hate the nickname. I still allow her to since she is my aunt, but it is old. She has called me that since I was three. I feel her arms wrap around me. Then, Grandmother comes over to me and holds me into her embrace. "Hello, Grandmother," I greet.

"Ah, Madeline!" she says. "I trust you have been good to your Mama during the move?"

I nod and smile. "Yes, Grandmother."

"Why don't we eat?" Mama suggests. I nod and Grandmother and Aunt Meg follow her. When we walk into the large grand dining room with it's long cherry oakwood table, I can't help but feel the festivities are soon to begin. Mama cuts some of the turkey while the three of us sit down. After Mama is done, we begin eating.

Chitchat is idle, as though we are at an aristocratic party with Papa's friends and family. I don't take well to it; I never did. I can feel my mind slipping away.

Ever since I was three, I've had times when I can feel my mind slipping away from my body. I do things robotically at this point, but my mind focuses on another thing entirely. Music. I can hear it everywhere, I can feel it come alive. Music comes to me as easily as oxygen does. I can hear the notes of my newest song play inside my head, trying to think of a climax to the sing before I end it. My music takes on it's own life; it's as though I am merely the body through which to deliver it. I can live and breathe on it's own. And now, I can hear it play itself, as though I were sitting at my piano.

I hear Mama's bell like voice bring me back to Earth entirely. I hadn't though of the proper combination for notes. But I knew it would come.

"Madeline, dear, are you alright?"

"Yes, Mama."

"You seemed…dazed, that's all."

"I was thinking about my music," I say. Mama is well aware I have my musical trances. They take my soul to a higher place, where I am free from any chains of human constraint. It's only music.

"After we are done, Madeline, you can play."

Being finished with eating didn't come soon enough, but when it did, I practically raced out of my chair and into the piano room. I took my seat at the piano and began to relax. Instinctively, I put my hands in the proper placement on the piano and my foot onto the petal.

"Shall I play for you?" I asked as my mother, aunt, and grandmother entered.

My mother nodded. "Yes, please, dear."

"What would you like to hear?" That, in itself, is hard to answer. All piano music is beautiful, so it's hard to pick one song when there are limitless choices.

"Mozart," Aunt Meg chimes in.

I breathe in one deep breath before shutting my eyes. The notes appear inside my mind, and all I do is play them. I can feel my soul dispatch from my body, and the most uplifting feeling comes and takes me away. The complexity of Mozart drives people to different feeling spectrums: sadness and bliss. For me, I can feel either the pain or joy in the notes, so my feelings are amplified. While others can read emotions of people, I read it in music. I can feel it's emotions: if it's a sing of heartbreak, I feel the pain in my heart, a song of revenge, I can feel hatred going through me.

When I finish, all three clap in unison. "Thank you," I say.

"Did you write anything recently, child?" Grandmother asks.

"My sonata," I answer sheepishly. I am always shy when presenting new music, even though Mama calls it "the work of genius."

"It's called A New Beginning."

"Can you play it?"

I nod. I shut my eyes, breathe, and begin to play. The song starts out happily, with my reflection of life in Paris, then the announcement of leaving, which had me angered to the point of playing ugly notes on the piano for three hours straight. I begin playing the more complex notes, requiring my fingers to move at fast speeds.

When I end it, five minutes later, all three were speechless. Did they hate it?

"It's beautiful, Madeline," my mother says.

Relief fills me to the brim. "Thank you, Mama."

"Your welcome."

"Mama, I'm going to head to sleep."  
"Goodnight, dear."

As I go upstairs, I can only hope reuniting with Papa may end up like tonight. I can only hope I will be able to play my sonata for him.

Yet, I am a pessimist.

**Why do we think she says that? Review to leave your answers! **


	3. Papa

Papa

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**Enjoy!**

The bright sun shone through my window, clearly revealing the white specs of dust that dance alive in the air. I opened my eyes hazily and threw the large duvet off me like one would let go of a weight. I got up and went into the great hall to find the large Grandfather clock gazing at me. It was noon. Papa would be here soon, I knew. He would be taking the steamboat that departed early, so it meant I had to be ready. I went down the hallway to find Mama's and Papa's chambers, and softly, I knocked.

"Come in," Mama chimed.

I meekly pushed open the door to find Mama wearing her nightclothes. She was at her vanity, brushing her wild curls. She tied them back and stood to face me. "Good morning, my dear." She cups my face in her hands and kisses my head. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Mama, I did."

"Good, good."

She moves to her armoire. "Mama?"

"Yes, Madeline?"

"When…will Papa be here?"

"He should be here with a half an hour."

"Oh."

She turns to face me. "May I help you with your hair, Madeline?"

I nod. I enjoy it when Mama brushes my hair, she will try to be gentle, whereas I rake the brush through the curls impatiently. I hand her the brush and she sits on the king size bed and gently brushes the knots out. When it is done, I thank her. Mama and I have the same hair, only mine is blonde from Papa, but it is more of a dirty shade of blonde. I must get the brown tint from Mama.

I go into my room and get dressed, choosing a light pink gown and wrap, tying the corset when I am done. I slip into heels that Papa loves. The dress is jeweled and extravagant, and is his favorite. I want to make his arrival special.

I can only hope that he will hold up his end of the arrival.

When I go downstairs, I find my aunt, mother, and grandmother in the dining room. "Good afternoon, Madeline," Aunt Meg says. I smile at her.

The warmth of our meeting is abruptly ended when we hear the doorbell ring. It is Papa. I take a deep breath, preparing for him to come. _Prepare for anything, Madeline, _I tell myself. I have to try not to get too angry at him if he…

Mama goes to get the door, and plasters a smile on her face. She opens the door, and Papa is standing there. He wears his gray traveling suit, and his blonde hair is slicked back. His face is clean shaven, and his eyes are dark.

"Raoul!" cries Mama, kissing him on the lips. She welcomes him, but I can hear a false tone in her voice. "Hello, dear wife," he says. He moves past her as though she were unimportant. I can feel a tiny spark of annoyance flicker inside me. How dare he treat my mother like that!

He moves and inspects the house, eyeing everything in sight. He nods in approval. "Hhmm…it's good, but I thought it would be grander. We should have had the money, don't you agree, Christine?" He asks Mama.

"Well, Raoul, we were…tight…on money, dear…"

"Why?! We should have had enough, you know! If it weren't for you going off to your dressmaker…and shouldn't you have found a job, Christine?" He asks sarcastically. I can feel my nostrils flare at him. He was slowly crossing the line, and I rarely tolerated that.

He sighs in annoyance, mutters a curse under his breath, and then says in a kinder voice, "Where is Madeline?"

Upon hearing that, I tighten myself. It was clear my father wasn't in a good mood and I wanted to protect myself. Scratch that. I wanted to protect _him. _

I walk out to face him. I stand directly in front of him, eyeing him as though I weren't angry with him. "I'm here, Papa," I say coolly. He opens his arms as though to embrace me. "Come here, Madeline," he says invitingly. But I stand my ground. I refuse to go near him, for I am repulsed. _You disgust me, _I hiss inside my mind.

"Madeline," he says angrily, snarling my name. "Don't you want you welcome your Papa home?" _No._

I still refuse to move. I can feel anger boil inside me, and I try to suppress it for everyone's sake.

"Madeline E. De Chagny, please don't argue with me!"

I race over to him, looking sorrowful as though I had caused him pain. He wraps his arms around me as I force the embrace. I bury my head into his shoulder and my heart sinks.

I can smell the bourbon on his jacket.

Papa has a drinking problem. He's had it for longer than I can remember. His temper is often short, and I've heard him yell. At night at home in Paris I remember finding him asleep on the couch, red wine spilled all over his shirt. I wanted to wake him and hit him, yell, do anything, for I had felt the anger of him once again being drunk hit me hard.

And I had only been nine years old.

I am glad when he pushes me away from him, so I don't have to inhale the scent of bourbon. I can still smell it, but it is weak.

"You look beautiful, Madeline," he says. I thank him coolly, and Aunt Meg and Grandmother greet him.

"Ah, Madame and Little Giry!" he pecks both of them on the cheek. Aunt Meg must be annoyed that she is still called "Little Giry," but she puts up with it.

After the greetings, we all sit down and have lunch in the dining room. Papa describes the horrid boat ride to us, how it tossed and turned. "They didn't give me enough bourbon either! The devils! I had nothing to calm my nerves, so I was agitated, naturally." I nod as though I am following along, and begin to feel myself escape to a kingdom. To a kingdom where music is it's ruler. Where all must pay homage to music…music…

"Mama?" I ask my mother after we are done eating.

"Yes?"

"Can we go out into the city now?" I ask. I can still remember Mama's promise to me.

"That sounds like fun," Aunt Meg chimes in. "Mesiuer le Vicomte would surely agree."

"I hope so," mutters Grandmother.

Papa returns into the dining room. "Hope what, Madame?"

I begin hopefully. "Papa, I would really like to see the city. Oh, it's just so strange and beautiful, and I want to see everything."

"Maybe later, Madeline, not now."

I try again. "Papa—"

"MADELINE! DON'T DISOBEY ME!"

"I WASN'T, FATHER! I'M UPSET THAT YOU COME HOME DRUNK IS ALL!" Anger boils through me, and yelling was only a small part of it. I can grow to yell, curse, and be violent. Papa sets me off. But my anger is far worse than his.

"I need air. I'm going to the local tavern," Papa announces. He was pushing it now. He didn't want to be home with his wife and child, but he'd rather be off with a bottle of whiskey.

"Raoul, I need money for a new gown…"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, WOMAN! IT'S MY MONEY!" Yet, I knew a gown would cost far less than the bill my drunk father would have to pay off.

"I would like to announce something. My sisters are coming with their families to see the new house. We will have the party next week." He looks into my eyes, and fear spreads all over him. I narrow my eyes dangerously. He looks as though he's seen it before…

He leaves with out another word, and I storm out of the dining room before I punch a hole in our new table. I go into the piano room. Papa isn't here, so I am free to play. He doesn't like to hear me play the piano, nor dies he like Mama's voice, strangely. He said that they had met when Mama was a singer, and he was visting. She would've grown to become the best singer in the world, if he hadn't forced her to stop after their marriage. I hear notes inside my mind. A new song was forming. One of anger and loss.

The blackness of my mood makes me grab a quill and ink and paper, and I sit there for hours, left only to anger, my composition, and music.

**Did you catch my reference? (Note: it's in the ALW musical)**

**How did you like this chapter? I did pull a reference from the book (where Raoul has two sisters and a brother). What do we think the "E" stands for? (It's the first letter of Madeline's middle name)**

**Please Review to leave your answers!**


	4. The Party

The Party

**Here's the next chapter!**

A week had passed. The servants arrived three days after Papa had, and Mama, Aunt Meg, Grandmother and I got new dresses to wear to Papa's party. Papa made my aunts come on the boats to America as soon as they could. Our poor servants worked long and hard to get preparations for the party done. Papa worked them like mules, even my maid, Sarah-Anne, was worked to the point of exhaustion. Now, I stare out the window of my bedroom. _Prepare yourself, Madeline, _I think. I hate aristocratic parties, for everyone calls me by my official title of "little Vicomtesse." All the women do is gossip, especially about Mama, who is too sweet natured to deserve gossip from those snobs. I, in fact, get a heavy dose of it. "Strange, the little Vicomtesse," I happened to overhear. It was a birthday celebration for my grandmother, Marie Mary-Anna De Chagny. "Yes, always thinking about darkness, and 'mystery.' So strange, she is. Her music…it is…extraordinary."

I brush the thoughts out of my head and sigh. I stare down at my gown: a long pink satin one that Mama ordered for me at the seamstress. I had wanted a red one, but Mama had said no. "You don't need to look like…" She didn't finish, but her face paled, and she clutched her wedding ring that hung around her neck, as though someone snatched it.

When Mama doesn't finish, I feel that she is hiding something from me. She does that often, and it bothers me to no end.

"Madeline," Aunt Meg knocks on my door. "They're going to be here soon." I turn to her. "I know, Aunt Meg. I just…cannot stand my aunts and cousins. You are more of an aunt to me than Papa's sisters."

She nods. It was ironic. I was biologically Papa's daughter, so his sisters were biologically my aunts, and Aunt Meg wasn't related to me, but they were adoptive sisters. I knew Mama's story. She'd grown up in Sweden with her father, Gustave, my grandfather, after my grandmother Sarah died giving birth to her. My grandfather had met Antoinette Giry in France before his marriage to his wife, and they reconnected when Mama moved to Perros. There, she met Papa for the first time when he'd gone into the sea to fetch her red scarf, much to the disapproval of his governess. Later, my grandfather died and Grandmother took Mama into her home. Mama was a traveling singer, and she sang on the streets of Paris when she re-met Papa and they fell in love and got married. It was a beautiful story.

Aunt Meg comes over to me and takes my hand. "Look, Maddy, I don't want to do this as much as you don't, but we have to."

"I know, Aunt Meg, but my aunts and cousins…they say things about us."

"I know, just ignore them and don't cause any trouble. You'll be okay."

I nodded, wanting to believe her. I look her in the eyes, searching for hope. I find Mama at the door. "Madeline? Meg? Are you in here?"

"Come in, Christine."

Mama emerges in a golden-colored gown, her wedding ring around her neck. She wears white lace gloves on her arms, as does Aunt Meg.

"Come on, you two. They're arriving."

* * *

Slowly, the guests arrived, and the night was moving slowly. Papa forbade me from "playing my little musical whims" and told me to enjoy my friends and family. I sighed and obeyed him like a good daughter should.

When my aunts arrived with my cousins and grandmother, I could feel the gossip itch up my spine.

"Raoul, where is your _wife?_" She practically hissed the word, making me nearly lose my composure. She was my aunt, but now I despised her. She looked haughty in her purple gown of satin and jewels, and her blonde hair was combed back and shining. I wanted to roll my eyes at her. "Liliana, my wife is home tonight. Where is Melanie?"

Melanie was my cousin, for she was Aunt Liliana's daughter. She was just as much of a snob as her mother. I hated them equally.

"She is around here…Melanie Renee!"

My cousin emerged from the crowd. "Yes, Mother?"

"Uncle Raoul wanted to see you," she says with false sweetness. Melanie was my age, with dark blue eyes and light brown hair, but her face was pinched and out of proportion, even though she considers herself beautiful.

She embraces Papa, and wrinkles her nose slightly when she smells the champagne on his breath. "Where is your daughter, Raoul?"

Papa turns and finds me in the back of the foyer. I obediently stand at his side, feeling his hand possessively grip my shoulder. I stand before Melanie, who drinks in my appearance. I hear a small scoff under her breath. "Bonjour, Melanie," I say politely. It is clear she doesn't know English, so I stick to French, our native tongue. "Bonjour, little Vicomtesse," she greets cynically.

"Was the ride terrible, Madeline?" Aunt Liliana asks.

"In the beginning, it was."

"Raoul?" I hear Mama's voice. I thank God silently for having her come over so I won't be stuck with my aunt and cousin.

"Oh, Bonjour, Christine," Aunt Liliana says with slight falseness in her voice.

"Bonjour, Liliana," Mama greets. "Bonjour," Aunt Meg says.

"Ah, dear Meg Giry, the dancer. It's nice to see you."

"As to you, Madame."

The adults talk, and as I wander off to the piano room, I can hear socialites talking. And _I _am the topic of interest.

"Ah, there goes the little Vicomtesse."

"Yes, Marguerite, there she is. Just like her mother, all with her head in the clouds and _music_."

"We've never heard her play, but I hear it's _horrid._"

How dare she! How dare she make light of music, of all things! The insults about my music were twisting my heart of all sympathy, wringing it like a handkerchief. I freeze. I become immune to all but one emotion: anger. I can feel it rising like a volcano under pressure, threatening to explode. Suddenly, I can imagine wrapping my arms around those socialites' necks, and feeling the life leave them…

I push thoughts of murder from my mind and make my way into the closed doors of the piano room. Thankfully, no one notices me. I make a joke that I am a ghost, able to go unseen for long time periods. Once, no one could find me for a day. I can hide in shadows and live in them.

I open the door to hear ugly, wretched notes be played at the piano. I shiver at how repulsive the notes are. I silently open the door to find my cousins Evangeline and Melanie sitting at the piano, with Evangeline trying to mock my playing.

"She plays like a banshee!" crows Melanie, unaware I am behind her.

"Yes, and she thinks she can compose like Mozart or Beethoven!"

"And her mother, she sounds terrible!"

Heat from my blood boiling burns inside me. "Melanie," I say in my darkest voice.

She turns around to see me there, and her skin turns whiter than death. "Oh, cousin Madeline…"

Angrily, I sit down next to her on the piano bench. "You said my music was like a 'banshee,'" I repeat her mocking words to her. I smile as I can feel her cowering like a girl in a too-large-gown. Poor Fool!

Abruptly, I begin to play. I stop one minute in when I hear Evangeline's voice: "Beethoven made music _sound_ like music, unlike this _poor _excuse for it." I stop and glare at her, my eyes becoming icy daggers. "What was that, dear Evangeline?" I hiss. I walk over to her, and we stand centimeters apart.

"Admit it, Madeline! You can't play anything! _Nothing! _Your music is as ugly as you are!"

I clench my hands into fists. My words come out like a bull before charging. "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"Yes, but you are _ugly_, disgusting. I don't know who can bear to look at you! Your face is vile…you are _deformed._"

To be called deformed in my time was as horrid as being called an idiot. I am not deformed, but I am as physically perfect as any other human. I have olive skin, dirty blonde hair, and icy blue eyes. My skin is unmarred and smooth. To be called deformed is a horrid lie. And it crosses a line.

My mind went black with murderous, pure, unadulterated rage. My anger was so real it made me think of one thing: kill her. I would have her blood on my hands. I slapped her and tackled her, sending her to the ground. Even though I am smaller in weight than she is, anger gave me the better strength of us two. I punch her repeatedly, hoping to mar her "beautiful" face. I kick her stomach and scratch her arms, doing anything to cause physical pain. Only, I wanted to show her physically what her words meant emotionally. The deformed have to bear the hatred of the human race.

Melanie screams and runs for help. "Madeline's insane!" she chants over and over.

I cannot deny that my anger can easily get the best of me. One minute I am peaceful, the next so angered, so disturbed to the point of looking murderous. I can remember having my first anger eruption when I was four years old. Papa had been drinking and he yelled at Mama, whereupon I launched myself at him, screaming at him in a temper tantrum. My father's friends had thought I was spoiled, but no. I only have a fierce anger problem, and lose control of my temper in the blink of an eye.

"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME DEFORMED AND UGLY! DAMN YOU TO HELL!" At this point, I have my hand around her neck, trying to squeeze air out of her.

Papa manages to rip me off of her, clawing at me.

"MADELINE ERIKA DE CHAGNY!" He yells. The use of my full name angers me more. He knows I hate my middle name.

* * *

I had been young when I asked why my middle name was Erika. Grandmother explained it to me. "You were named for a friend your Mama knew, little Maddy."

"I was?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes. While traveling, you see, your mother met a man named Erik. He was a builder and composer, and his mother, who had died, was named Madeline. We stayed in his home, and he was very nice to us."

"What happened, Mama?"

"He went to Heaven, darling."

"Yet, he made some bad choices, Madeline. Don't ever make his mistakes."

I nodded, to naïve to understand.

I couldn't believe I was named for a man who made "bad choices." I hated my middle name ever since. I later learned that the man had died in a fire because he deliberately set his home alight.

* * *

I can smell anger and alcohol mixed into Papa's breath. I knew I was going to get a lecture later. "GO UPSTAIRS, YOUNG LADY!" I want to hit him instead of obey him, so I angrily push through the crowd. I shut myself away into darkness, where I felt I belonged. During the day I was judged, at night, I was free.

* * *

I hear the grandfather clock stroke midnight. I haven't slept. Mama gave me a lecture earlier and forbade me from hitting Evangeline again. When I learned that she had a broken nose, I felt no remorse. I had scratched her face, so she had permanent scars. Now she was the one who was truly deformed. I told Mama what happened and she froze and took a deep breath. When I described the incident to her, she looked on the verge of tears.

"Remember, Madeline, it's in a soul where a distortion lies," she told me.

"You sound as if you know."

A tear slipped from her face as she cried. She appeared…apologetic, as though she had broken someone's heart. But what did that have to do with anything? The nostalgic look on her face made it seem as though she were remembering something of her past, something I needed to know! But she ran away before I said anything.

Mama, Papa, Grandmother and my Aunt always seem to me remembering their past, but they never tell me. The stories that they tell me had to be lies, yet I believed them. I knew nothing of my past. My life was a mystery. It was as dark as night…

I looked out the window and saw the night sky beckon to me. Come, Madeline, come to me… It whispered. I could feel its seducing caress. Finally, I get my dress back on and my black cloak, trying to blend in with the night sky. I get on my shoes and gingerly make my way through the house, grabbing my key. I open the door and let the chilly night air embrace me, welcoming the goosebumps that appear on my arms. I step outside and shut the door behind me, leaving me to go explore in the night.

**So…we figure out her name. Did you catch the reference to **_**Phantom **_**by Susan Kay? (an amazing book by the way) Where do we think Madeline's going? And what's with her crazy temper? Review and leave your answers!**


	5. A New Place to Explore

A New Place to Explore

**In this chapter, we'll figure out where Madeline runs off to. You're guesses were good, I will admit. Thank you for being dedicated readers.**

**To those who view but don't review: please do! I'm open to reviews, because they let me know how you guys like the story. If you have a question, let me know and I will answer it.**

**Thank you! Please R/R**

If anyone had watched the De Chagny house, they would've seen a sixteen year old girl enveloped in a black cloak. That was me. The only light around was the street lamps, and the mansion was isolated away from crowds. Carriages rarely come by here anyway, so it's a perfect opportunity to escape. No one saw me. I escaped like a ghost, a creature of night. Only I was one.

I felt the stress of my predicament envelop me, crushing my soul with the expectations of a life of aristocracy. I wasn't made to wear extravagant jewels and large gowns. No. I was made to make music, and to explore the mysteries of night. At night, I am not a caged lark, but rather a soaring songbird.

Keeping my head down, I walk through Manhattan and come across a crowd of people. People don't tend to question others' actions in public unless they are affected directly. As humans, we tend to keep to ourselves, only interested in getting to the destination. That was how I was that night. I slipped through crowd unseen, only interested in exploring the workings of the city. I became acquainted with the small shops that tended to a persons needs. I became familiar with the jutting, sudden corners of the streets, and the sound of carriages pulling passengers to a waiting home. The gaslight in the lamps was dimming, and thus, it became harder to see. But I could easily adapt my eyes to the surrounding darkness. Soon, it would be black. The looming, oppressive sky was like a thick bank above me, consuming the light and hope. There were no stars, and there was no moon. I liked it that way. It was easier to be free of someplace without moonlight illuminating you. I enjoyed the fact that I was beneath a moonless sky.

I walked on and on, making my movements as stealth as I could, moving with the grace of a sleek, muscled feline. I wanted to sound like nothing, to not attract attention to the fact that I was out in the streets alone, not to mention that I was under eighteen and it would be disgrace to be out alone. _To think, a De Chagny disobeying her parents and going out at night! Oh, how preposterous. _

I made the sneering voices of aristocrats subside in my all-to-alive conscience, and proceeded onward. I needed to think. I hated the word 'aristocrat' and being labeled as one could burn my soul more than hellfire. A life of simple small talk, thinking nothing but of wealth, status, and social standing made me want to suffocate in an already too tight cage. I hated that parents needed their child to marry 'within their social class', as though the concept of love were obsolete, even in these times. Being of a higher class meant that people looked up to you, and that you had to be perfect, or that was what it feels like. Life was handed to you on a silver platter. You were molded out. You could play music, but no too much. You could talk, but only chit-chat.

Music was my life, and I'd gladly be disowned if I had to give it up. Music can easily be adapted to; people build operas starting with only one small note. Music was my muse. It drove me to create, starting from copying Miss Lillian's music pattern when I was three.

My thoughts apparently controlled my feet, because now I stood in front of a large building a few miles from the others, sitting on its own small corner. The rest of town was a small walk away, but this building stood alone, as though it wanted to be. It intrigued me enough to let me go inside.

I stepped into a grand foyer. It was elaborately decorated in gold; the floor itself seemed to be shining with gold color. The walls were shining gold, as well. It was large and spacious, enough to hold 500 people, I could estimate. A large staircase was present before me, inviting me up. It dared me to venture, and so I did. I walked towards a large hallway with doors, and one that said 'to backstage.' The same thing occurred down the other hallway, only I dared not go backstage. Finally, curiosity made me venture beyond the heavy black doors. The backstage area was three levels, and I went up all three. On the third level, there were stairs that led to a door bearing the sign 'Master's Office.' I dared not open that door, so I went to the first level and found more rooms, which I guessed were dressing rooms, like the others.

I looked up into the rafters with turning gears. I could guess it was to change scenes, judging by the backdrops above. I turned and a large stage loomed before me, complete with a large auditorium and orchestra pit. I found myself pretending, that just for a moment, I was a Prima Donna. Judging by the fact that Mama was an opera singer, she must have performed in an Opera House, despite the fact that she was a traveling singer. I begin to sing something that she used to sing to me as a lullaby.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye_

_Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try…"_

"Miss?" I hear. I nearly jump out of my skin at hearing the voice talk speak to me. I turn around, and there stands a boy. He looks about my age, with blonde hair the shame shade as Papa's, and light green eyes. He had a handsome face, making me think of Apollo. I study his perplexed expression. Surely he will think strange of me when I try to explain myself, I just know it. The people in my social class think so. But he doesn't seem to be of my social standing. Not it mattered.

"I apologize, Monsieur."

"Monsieur?" he asks. Apparently, he is from America, because I doubt that he has heard the term, judging by his tone of confusion.

"Sorry, I'm not used to causality."

"I can see."

"I…have to go home…sir."

I get off stage and meet him on the auditorium floor. He stares at me when I stand directly in front of him. "Miss, I think you should leave. You don't want to upset…" I noticed that when he said this, he appeared deathly afraid, as though someone would snatch him out of the gallows.

"Yes, sir."

"If you want to watch an Opera later, you can, but not now."

"Oh. What is the name of this place?"

"Manhattan Opera House, Miss. We are the only rival to the Metropolitan Opera," he states proudly.

"Oh."

With that, I bid him goodbye and leave Manhattan Opera House for the night.

* * *

When I arrive home, I can only think of one thing: I would be returning. Sometime during the day, I knew. During the bitter sweetly short period I sang those lines to that sweet lullaby, I felt free of my cage. And I wanted to finally take flight.

**Who do you think was that boy Madeline ran into? Could it be a possible love interest for our little Madeline Erika De Chagny? Who else do you think we'll run into? Review and leave your thoughts. And did you catch my song reference?  
**


	6. Manhattan Opera House

Another Visit to the Manhattan Opera House

**More Characters are going to be introduced in this chapter. Yay! **

No one suspected that I had snuck out last night, and no one suspected that I was going to do the same thing tonight. I decided it would be best to sneak out before midnight, the earliest I could get out. I sat through dinner as usual: Papa complaining that the tavern would be closed early tonight, so I knew the extra supply of whiskey he stored was going to be gone in the morning. I had to talk myself into not beating him to death when I saw him passed out with the bottle in his hand. I felt my blood rise at the possibility, but somehow managed to cajole myself.

"Christine, just when are you going to get a job?" Papa inquired. The bitterness in his tone reminded us all that if she were to say nothing this time, the results would be disastrous.

"Raoul, I'm going out to look tonight."

"We'll come with you, Christine," offered Aunt Meg, jumping at the possibility to escape this place. I didn't blame her. I was escaping to an Opera House to escape Papa's drunken rages, which in turn would cause horrid results if mixed with my unnatural temper. I wanted to save his life from myself, because each time he angered me I was close to killing him.

I decided to say that I was going to head to sleep early, and it was true, for I was a bit tired. I tried my best to push sleep away as I waited for the rest of the house to retire to rest. Then, I realized that Papa was going to be up in a drunken rage all night. I was born with survival skills, so I needed to escape before his anger made him turn the house upside down.

I waited before slipping on my cloak, and pulled up the hood. If people saw me in my black cloak from the distance I'd seem like a ghost that has risen from the grave. Up close they'd see a girl.

I preferred to be seen far away.

I opened the window in my bedroom and realized that a storm was brewing. I cursed under my breath and get up on the windowsill. There is a tree just inches away. I know I can make the jump. I've done it before. I brace myself for impact, and using my long legs, I push. Using my arms I hoist myself onto the branch, and look at the maze of branches beneath me. It is as easy as a cat doing it.

Ever since I was little, I could go to high places. I could climb and jump stealthfully, making my movements muffled. Mama once compared me to a monkey, and a cat. Strangely, Papa didn't object. "If it keeps her from playing that damn piano all the time," he mumbled. Miss Lillian once caught me and scolded me, but that doesn't mean I listened. Once I stopped, she didn't scold me too often. She'd coax me from climbing by playing the piano, and I'd always stop to listen to beauty hidden in those notes…

I make it to the ground in no time, and race to the Opera House, finding myself at its doors sooner than I expected to be. I look around, making sure no one is seeing me and silently enter the grand hall I was in the other night. As soon as I shut the door, I hear a voice behind me.

"What are you doing here?"

I turn around, seeing the boy who had greeted me before the other night. He is now illuminated by the light, making his golden features come off more prominent than ever before.

"I…I was here last night…"

"Ah, yes. The ghost girl."

Great, I had a reputation already. "Did others say anything…"

"There was some talk. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"I just need to get out of the house…"

"Are you looking for a job, Miss?"

I had the opportunity in front of me. It would pleasure me to play piano for the operas, as they would do, I guessed. Or I could sing…

No, that was for Mama. I hoped that Papa would let her sing again, but he didn't. She had been an amazing singer when she did it in the streets and local Opera Houses. But for some reason he refused and always said this one line so low it was nearly out of earshot: "We don't want a repeat of _his _reign…"

Who? Who had reigned over them so much so that Papa forbade her from singing? It was one of the other things I was never told. Even Aunt Meg, who was my confidante, wouldn't tell me. "I only know some of it," she'd say. "It's their story to tell." I knew it was a story I'd never hear. Mama and Papa hid their past from me, and thus, I only knew so much about my past.

"Yes, I guess I am, sir."

"Well, I'll talk to Frederick and he can tell Master…"

I suddenly remembered that strange sign on the door high above the three levels of stairs in the Opera House. 'Master's Office' it said. A question dawned on me.

"Who is Master?"

"Our employer. He owns the Opera House. Although, he doesn't speak to us that much, so he has messengers deliver notes to us for him, or when we do hear him, we never see him."

"Like…like a ghost."

"I…guess."

After he is done speaking, a man comes down the stairs, and gestures to the boy. "Master wanted me to deliver this to you."

"Thank you, Frederick."

Frederick hands the note to the boy and goes off to tend to his other duties. Frederick looked not too much older than the boy, although he appeared as though he has worked for a long time, and his new job as note deliverer must take a toll on him. In his brown hair there is gray from the stress.

The boy in front of me scans his note. "Master still wants to know whose voice was singing last night," he whispers to himself, as though I am not there.

"Was that you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well, what is your name?"

"My name is Madeline…Madeline De Chagny."

"De Chagny?'

"Yes."

"Are you of relation to…Miss Christine Daae?"

"My mother, sir."

"It's Trevor. Trevor Hanson."

"Nice to meet you, Trevor," I shake his hand firmly.

"Did you come from France, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, did you?"

"No. I was born and raised in America." Yet, because he knew how to say 'mademoiselle', I was certain he'd been around people who were French. America is a 'melting pot', as is said.

My thoughts are interrupted when Frederick comes downstairs, and the look on his face tells me something is urgent.

"Trevor, Master would—"

Frederick stops talking when he sees me. "And you are, Miss?"

"Madeline."

"Ah. Well, Madeline, do you know who made the singing last night. Surely you must as you are speaking to one of our employees." He gestures to Trevor.

"It was me, sir. I was singing last night."

"Oh, well then, Master would like to see you."

"Alright Frederick," I said, following him. He didn't question that I knew his name, having me overheard him and Trevor's conversation.

I follow him through the Opera House, which I could equate with a labyrinth. It was maze-like, and one would worry about getting lost inside it's vast open space.

Suddenly we arrive at a door just up a small amount of steps. Frederick goes up the stairs gingerly and I could feel my heart pound in every step. I knew I would be banned from ever coming back here, ever. I knew that he would send a letter to my parents explaining the situation, and I would be severely punished. I braced myself for whatever result I would get as Frederick opened the door and poked his head in like a mouse.

"Master, she's here."

After nodding, he turns to me. "He's ready to see you."

He comes down the stairs and leads me up them like a gentleman, and I thank him. He bids me good luck, and when I am in the room, he pulls the door shut. I turn around and look at the office.

It is mysterious; the walls are black as pitch. Above my head is a crystal chandelier. Over in the corner is a grand piano, shined to perfection. On some tables are papers scattered about, and a desk sits in front of me. There are sets, presumably of operas, sitting about. There are tall black candles near the organ, and on one wall there is a large mirror. On one table, all I see is a big black safe and lock. And in front of me, there is a man, dressed all in black.

"…Sir?" I ask timidly. "I was sent for?" I brace myself for a scolding so that if he yells at me I won't take it too far.

"Yes," he says. His voice is deep, and like velvet.

"I…I'm…sorry, sir."

"I overheard you, child. The whole opera house did."

I gulp. Strangely, I am scared of the consequences that he can bestow upon me, and I've only just met him.

"I overheard you…and you were wonderful."

I half expected to be scolded, or at least warned not to come back here. But to hear that I broke a rule and was _wonderful_ was unheard of, at least in my life. I stare at him in shock, and narrow my eyes at him, as though expecting to be rebuked. But I find nothing as he continues talking.

"May I ask, what is your name?"

"Madeline…"

"_Madeline…_" he whispers, as though in remembrance. Abruptly, he asks, "what is your surname, Madeline?"

"De Chagny," I say meekly.

"De Chagny…Madeline, do you know of a woman named Christine Daae?"

"She is my mother, sir."

"Ah, I see her talents have been passed on to you."

"Thank you."

"Madeline, I'm working on an opera and it will be finished in two days. We will have auditions then. Would you like to audition?"

It would be my dream to escape from my house, and to sing like the caged bird I was. I knew it would be risky, but I had no choice. I can't live without music, and would like to elude Papa in his drunken rages.

"Yes, sir, I would love to."

"Good. We will have rehearsals from eight in the morning to five. Is that alright?"

Surely I would be noted missing, but I didn't care. Mama would get a job with Aunt Meg and Grandmother, and Papa would be too drunk to notice.

"Yes."

"Madeline, I do have some instructions, however. You are to refer to me as 'sir' or 'Master.'"

"Alright."

"Please be here on time."

"Yes, sir." I would wait until I was officially employed to call him Master.

"Auditions start from noon to three in two days."

"Thank you, sir."

I was grateful that this stranger was giving me a chance, even more than my own flesh and blood ever would. I could feel music play inside my soul, the notes defining me, and like a body risen from the dead, I felt alive after being dormant.

I left the Opera that night with so much joy I could have burst.


	7. The Audition

The Audition

**Who is Master? We may find out. Read on!**

"Please, Raoul," came Mama's distressed voice as she begged Papa to work. "Please, Raoul, I want to sing again, just let me!"

Mama had begged Papa to go to work at the Metropolitan. Normally, I would defend my mother, but I realized that Manhattan Opera and the Met were rivals. How could I not know? I would stand behind my loyalties to the Opera House where I would work potentially, hopefully.

Singing had been a dream of mine since I was little, ever since Mama sang to me I wanted to follow in her footsteps, and also follow along in my dream to become a professional pianist. Whenever I was surrounded by music, the shell I put around myself breaks like a rock hitting glass, and the true essence of my music reveals itself in my soul. Dark notes convey the blackest anger, and light notes portray the gayest of melodies. In Mama's soul, this is in her voice.

She truly had the voice of an angel, blessed by the powers of Heaven by the Almighty God. I always figured that Papa had been jealous, so that was why he refused to let her let her spirit soar, but then when I heard tales of a man in an awful reign of 'terror' I became suspicious of another part of my past.

"Raoul, I beg you, please!"

"CHRISTINE, NOT ANOTHER WORD!"

Instantly, anger boiled in me and I ran to find my father spreading a look of fear all over my mother. I looked at his free hand, which was clenched into a fist. If he dare touch my mother…

"Monsieur, you do know that it is highly horrid to beat your wife?"

Grandmother's voice came from the other side of the room. Thankfully, she said something just before I was conjuring images of hurting him, like how he nearly hurt my mother. My dear, innocent mother shouldn't have to go through that. I would take it instead, or at least partly if he _lives_ to beat me to a pulp.

"Raoul, I'm going to that Opera House whether you like it or not, for someone has to support our daughter."

"Christine—"

"Raoul, I beg you, please…"

"Alright. The chances of _him _being there are slim."

"Thank you, Raoul."

Mama got her wish. Hopefully I would get mine.

I glanced at the clock, it was eleven fifty. I had to leave now if I wanted to be the first to audition. Hastily, I make my way downstairs. Mama notices me when I have my cloak on from the cloak room.

"Madeline, where are you going?"

"Into the city, Mama," I answer. "Mama, I want to go see it, please. You promised. I just want to go alone."

"Where are you going in the city?"

"I want to see it, just to walk around. Please, Mama."

She thinks it over and then nods. "Alright, but be back before dark."

"Yes, Mama. Thank you."

"Your welcome, darling."

I fasten my cloak and walk out the door. I head directly for Manhattan Opera House. I run, making myself fast enough to get there on time. At night I had time, but now, I am in a rush, and it conveys the rush of excitement on my soul.

When I get there, I go in the front entrance in the auditorium. I find Trevor there, sweeping.

"Ah, Madeline. You're here."

I nod. "Hello, Trevor."

"Hello, Madeline. Why are you here, may I ask?"

"I'm here to audition for the Opera."

"Who told you that?"

"I spoke to Master, Trevor."

His green eyes gape in bewilderment and shock. All color drains from his face. "…Master? He told you…to come…here?"

"Yes. He overheard me and offered to let me sing."

"Wow, you must be talented then, Mademoiselle."

"Not as talented as my mother," I say.

"But you are just as much so," says Trevor, smiling. His smile was as genuine as his soul. It made his green eyes twinkle. It brought out the golden strands of his hair, which had brown and gold tints, like the color of leaves in autumn.

"Thank you, Trevor."

"Were you told about the Opera, Madeline?"

"No."

"I bet he didn't. Master doesn't like to share his work until we are cast, but that's in weeks."

"Oh," I say. How much longer before I could escape Papa?

"Are you hoping to get a role, Trevor?"

"I don't think I can, Madeline, I'm just a backstage worker."

"I'm sure you can try. Do you have a lead tenor?"

"No, I don't think so..."

"Well, then you should try, Trevor."

"Maybe."

Suddenly, a man comes up onto the stage. He is short, with thinning brown hair and a slight mustache. His eyes are grayer than granite.

"Hello, all of you. I am Mr. Irmingham, the audition director here at Manhattan Opera House. Auditions for our new Opera are now commencing. Our lead stars, Lydia Mason and George Mason, have left us, due to… unfortunate reasoning—"

"Then that means I get to take over, Mr. Irmingham."

A red-haired girl stands up in the midst of the auditorium. Her hair is curled back, pulled into a chignon. She looks about my age, maybe younger. She is tall, but she is built heavier than I am. She wears a red fur coat and red dress underneath.

"Sit down, Miss Mabel!" commands Mr. Irmingham.

She pouts and sinks into the chair, which absorbs her weight. Mr. Irmingham continues:

"Anyway, we are auditioning for all parts. Female first, then male."

"I'll go first," says the red-haired girl. She gallantly marches onto the stage as though she owns it. She stands directly in the center.

"What will you sing for us, Mabel?" asks the Maestro in the orchestra pit.

"_Think of me _from Hannibal."

When the piano starts, she begins.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye…"_

How could she know that song? Only Mama knew it. She sang it to me as a lullaby when I was little! How? It is a new question in my mind…but I know it is one of them that will never be answered. Like the questions about my past.

I snap back when I hear the last note. Her voice…I've never heard a voice as wretched and horrid as that one! I could see fellow colleagues stuffing their ears full of cotton, possibly to prevent them from bleeding.

When she finished, a cocky smile played on her cherry red lips. Mr. Irmingham called out, "Next!" and a girl, about twenty-two, walked onstage. She moved gracefully, like a trained ballerina, hence I presumed she was one of the chorus girls. She had flowing chestnut hair and deep blue eyes, with skin the color of milk.

"Ah, Miss Anna, what will you be singing?"

"Marguerite's aria from Faust, sir."

Her voice was clear and melodic. She deserved to get a role, I knew it. It was rich, and had a warm timbre.

When she finishes, she smiles and curtseys politely. Mr. Irmingham calls out "Next," and I feel Trevor nudging my shoulder.

"Madeline, go on."

"Trevor…" I could feel fear creep up my spine and possess my full being. What if I messed up? What if…?

"Madeline, go. I believe in you."

I nod, and mouth 'thank you' as I sheepishly make my way up onto the stage.

"What will you be singing, Miss?"

"_Think of Me,_ sir."

The piano plays and I feel my soul lift, just by using my voice. My voice and the piano have become one as the melody entwines them, even to the last cadenza. When I finish, I curtsy respectfully. The crowd is astonished, and I feel myself blush. I take pride in my piano music, but with singing I am sheepish. Perhaps it is because I don't want to be found out that I am the daughter of a soprano and gambler.

I walk towards Trevor, who stares at me in utter shock.

"…Trevor?" I ask to ease the awkwardness.

"When…people said…the voice was of an angel…I could see they weren't joking. Madeline, you sing beautifully, no, amazingly, no…"

"Thank you, Trevor. I'm sure you sing just as so and perhaps even more beautiful."

"No, Madeline, your voice was of the Heavens above. Praise the Lord, I have never heard a more magnificent gift!"

I smile and thank him tenderly. He must have a beautiful singing voice, for his normal voice was soft and tender, like a flowing current rushing over rocks, like the softest notes played on a piano.

When all the women audition, I nudge Trevor in the back with my elbow. "Trevor…go on, sing."

"Madeline, I just—"

"Yes, you can, Trevor, now go!" I whisper harshly.

When Trevor walks on the stage, I hear snickers amongst the crowd. I felt my blood boil. How dare they! How dare they mock him!

"What will you be singing, Trevor?"

"Don Giovanni's aria from _Don Giovanni_."

I loved the opera Don Giovanni, as it showed the beautiful, riveting complexity of Mozart. I listened to the piano music and felt at ease, into a place of familiarity. But it was Trevor's voice that was my muse.

He must have had lessons at some point, because his voice was a beautiful tenor that could reach to baritone effortlessly, and he had a high falsetto that made his Adam's apple bob.

When he was finished, I clapped, but no one looked.

"Trevor…that was amazing. You must have had lessons at some point in your life."

"I did. My mother was a dancer in America who aspired to be a singer, so she learned and taught me."

"Well, you did beautifully."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle." He says, kissing my hand as I blush sheepishly.

Suddenly, another man comes onto the stage. He is tall, and built muscularly. "What will you be singing, Henry?"

"Passarino's aria, sir."

His voice is deeper and richer than Trevor's, and it suits the aria well, and it sends shivers down my spine. His voice was richer than a cello.

When he finishes, a girl from the crowd—the girl named Anna—stands up and kisses him when he is done. Are they husband and wife? Lovers? My mind kept reeling.

When more men audition, Frederick comes behind me and taps me on the shoulder, pressing into my gown.

"Madeline?" he asks.

"Oh, hello Frederick, what can I do to help you?"

"A note, from Master, for you," he says as he hands me the letter.

"Thank you, Frederick."

_I'll be back soon, _I mouth to Trevor as I walk back stage to open the letter. Apparently it wasn't everyday that employees—or future employees, for that matter—got a letter from Master.

I carefully open it, so as to not raise suspicion, keeping myself as quiet as possible as I extract the note from its envelope. The paper, looking like cream with gold lining, has a beautiful handwriting on it, and it says:

_Madeline,_

_I wish to speak to you privately in my office. Do not tell anyone about this, please come. It is about your audition._

_Master_

I nod, fold the note, and head towards Master's office. When I knock, I hear his husky voice respond. "Come in, Madeline."

"Master?" I ask, stepping into the room sheepishly and shutting the door behind me quietly.

"Madeline, about your audition…" begins Master.

"Yes?" I ask. Would I not be allowed to return? Would I be cast out of the audition?

"Your voice, it is wonderful, as I said before, but it just needs training, is all."

"Oh. Master, what do you—"

"I would like to tutor you myself, my dear."

"Me?" I ask, incredulous. Surely he could train others, particularly the girl named Mabel.

"Yes. All of the performers go through training, but your voice is too beautiful to be subjected to normal training by vocal coaches."

"Thank you, Master, thank you very kindly."

"Your welcome, Madeline. Your private lessons will begin early, around 6 a.m., so as to not wake anyone, is that clear?"

"Yes, Master." I could deal with getting up early. I rarely needed sleep anyhow. I could live with out it.

He holds out a large key in his black gloved hand. "Here is a key for the front and back door of the Opera House. Never lose it, and keep it with you at all times."

I nod as I take it from him. "Madeline, I also want to give you other instructions."

"Alright."

"Never tell anyone about me, or what you are doing here. Can you do that?"

* * *

I knew that Papa would try to take away anything to do with music. He had always done that. He had tried to cage me into the proper life of aristocracy, limiting me to "say please, thank you, and don't talk back..." I had found it more grueling than any school lesson.

"It isn't proper for a Vicomtetess to be playing music, Madeline," he said to me one day when I was thirteen, and playing a song from Bach on the piano.

"Monsieur, music is her outlet, and it wouldn't be kind to—" Miss Lillian tried to speak, but Papa cut her off.

"Lillian LaBelle, I suggest that if you want to keep working for my daughter, then you do not mouth off to me!"

* * *

I sigh on frustration at the memory as I stand in front of Master. "I will gladly do so, Master."

"Good."

"Master?"

"Yes, child?"

"Have you…trained other students before me?"

There is a large pause in the room, alerting me that I have asked a personal question as it weighs down on the atmosphere in the room. The large organ seems to laugh at me, as though it knows the answer. Why was it telling me something?

"Yes, I have…trained another, before you."

"You have?"

"Yes," he says as he nods. "She was young, in her late teenage years. She was kind, sweet and very beautiful. I had known her when she was very young, just a small child. She had a passion for music, a very deep one. But she…left when she was sixteen."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's alright, Madeline. I can understand curiosity, believe me."

What did he mean? When he turned around, I found the answer.

Half of his face was covered by a white porcelain mask. It stood out in contrast with the color of his skin, which was olive colored. His eyes were two blue orbs behind the mask. I found myself drawn to the mask. Half of his face was normal, like any other human face, but the other was hidden away like a secret in a large chest.

If only I could find the key…

"If I am to become your tutor, Madeline, then I need you to be aware of this. Do not ever, I mean never, touch this mask. Do you hear?"

His voice becomes hard and scares me out of my wits. "Yes, sir."

I could learn to respect his privacy, but still, a burning question lingered within me: _why did he wear the mask? _

"I…I have to go home, Master. My mother will be—"

"I understand. In two weeks everyone will be cast in the opera. I will see you soon, Madeline."

"_Au revoir_," I bid him goodbye in my native tongue.

When I shut the door, I didn't have to look in a mirror to see that my face was as white as Master's mask.

**Thank you, my dear readers. Don't forget to Review. Thank you, also to my reviewers. Keep it up! Tell your friends, too. I'm open to critique, as well.**


	8. A Decision

No Going Back Now

**What is the big Opera written by Master? Read on and we'll find out! I want to thank my fellow reviewers! This chapter's for you guys! **

**To my readers: please, please, please review. I love the reviews, and they make my day. Thanks!**

**Fellow author,**

**Balletdancer202**

At Mama's request, I went to the Met with her one day. It was truly a grand opera house, but it didn't match the scale of the Manhattan Opera House. I loved the place, though. It was shaped like a beautiful dome, with pictures of the Seraphic Angels roaming above, as though blessing the singers in the Opera House below. They're smiles were full of praise, like Mama's whenever I played on the piano, although hers had a small trace of sadness in it…

"Madeline, darling…"

Mama's sweet voice snaps me out of my trance. I look up at her questioningly.

"Yes, Mama?"

"Come with me, darling. I would like you to meet my colleagues."

I nod and follow her backstage. The backstage area was large, although not on many levels, just one long floor that stretched into an eternal black abyss. I saw many performers gathering around one man: the manager. I was a bit shocked, for Master was secretive, unlike this man.

"Ah, Madame De Chagny," he greets.

"Hello, Mr. Noam."

He looks at me questioningly. "And who…"

"My daughter, sir. Madeline, this is the owner of the Met, Mr. Noam."

"Pleasure to meet you, miss," he says, kissing my hand when I extend it to him.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Noam."

"Is she here to watch, Madame?"

"Yes, sir, she can watch from the—"

"AAAAHHHH!"

A loud scream jolts everyone from backstage. We all turn, and Mama runs towards the front of the stage. "Lisa…what has happened?"

The woman named Lisa—a brunette with gentle sea green eyes—has her hand crushed by the piano lid. It was an unfortunate incident to happen to pianists, and it nearly happened to me on three occasions. It often happens on accident, but permanent injury is often the result. I prayed that it wouldn't happen to this young woman. I went offstage and eased the heavy lid off her hand.

"Thank you, Miss," she says, gasping in-between her words due to pain. She cradles her throbbing hand in her good one. The poor woman's face is one of pure agony.

"Oh no!" Mr. Noam exclaims. "Lisa, you can go on leave until that hand is better. Now, who will we get to play the piano?" He holds his head in his hands at the stress. I open my mouth to speak. "I could do it for today, Mr. Noam…"

He looks up at me as though I were a Savior sent from Heaven. "Y-You…can?" he asks, incredulous. "Then you must!" he exclaims excitedly.

"Madeline, dear, you really don't have to…" Mama begins. I could understand it, but once Mr. Noam exclaimed that I must, I felt that I must. My fingers itched to play, my mind craved the notes, and my soul yearned for the euphoria that could only be filled by playing music. Instantly, I took my seat at the piano and sat up stick straight, taking in the music, and feeling the essence of the notes. Instantly, I saw it be played in my mind and shut my eyes.

"From verse 15, Miss De Chagny," says the maestro.

I turn the page and examine the verse, and shut my eyes once more. I could feel the music come alive. I could remember one of the things I told Miss Lillian as a little girl. "We don't write music, music writes itself, Miss Lillian. We merely bring it into the world," I had told her. She chuckled lightly and told me to work on _Four Seasons…_

As soon as Mama opens her mouth to sing, I play the song. I listen, absorbing both the piano music and the vocal accompaniment.

_Dear gentle student, do not cry. I shall retrieve for you what you need_

_Do not worry, I shall take heed…_

I listen and hope that my own voice will be as heavenly as Mama's…

After Mama gets through half of the first act I snap out of my music trance. When I hear Mama warming up, I think about how soon I will be singing in front of others…

No! No! Had two weeks passed all ready? I asked the nearest worker for the date, and my suspicions were confirmed. I had to return to the Manhattan Opera House.

Darn, Darn, Darn!*

I asked where to find my mother, and when I found her, I ran in a state of panic. I found her dressing room and knocked several times, like a loon. When she opens the door, I am pale and panting. I enter the room and begin pacing.

"Madeline, what is it?"

I decide not to physically harm anything and instead turn to face my mother, although my anger at myself is building. How could I not have kept track of time?

"Mama…I need…to be…"

"Madeline, darling, slow down. I can't hear you. Now, tell me what's wrong." She grabs both my hands in hers and looks me straight in the eyes. Warm brown on icy blue, she stares me down, yet somehow, her eyes have more dominance over mine.

I breathe slowly and explain. "Mama, I have somewhere to be—"

"Where?" she asks, cutting me off.

I remember Master's warning. "Nowhere in particular," I lie. "I just want to go out into the city, is all." I hated lying to her, but I had no choice. I pushed the feeling of guilt behind me. "Mama, please. It's not anything bad. I'll be back before dark, I promise." Mama searches my face, suspicious. She reluctantly nods. "Alright, Madeline, I trust you. Just be back before dark, before dinner, lest your Papa worry."

I smile. "Thank you, Mama. I will be back before dinner." I grab my cloak off it's hook in Mama's dressing room. Just as I am about to leave, I hear Mama's voice calling to me.

"Madeline?"

"Yes?" I ask, turning to face her.

"Be careful, please."

"Yes, Mama, I will."

"Good. I'll see you at home."

I smile as I leave the Opera House. I inform Mama's colleagues of my departure, and they bid me farewell. I begin to make my way to the Manhattan Opera House.

When I arrive, I see Mr. Irmingham passing out large pieces of paper bound together. I say hello to my colleagues, and make my way over to Mr. Irmingham.

"Ah, here is our star!" he greets, holding the large paper think in his arms, cradling it. He beams at me proudly, gushingly, like when Mama hears me play.

"What do you mean, Mr. Irmingham?"

"You received the lead role, Miss De Chagny."

"What? I thought I had to work my way through? I can't just possibly be a Prima Donna!"

"Ah, well you can, my dear. It has happened before."

I stand there, stunned. My eyes revert to the red haired girl. She must've been the understudy for Prima Donna. I feel horrible that I am taking her position.

"Sir, does the management know?"

He nods. "Yes, of course. Master even told us who to choose."

It felt strange. Master didn't know me too well, and he already showed favoritism over me, when he had many dedicated workers ready to take the position. And here I was, a newcomer, already having the Prima Donna spot before anyone else. It felt wrong. Yet, I did want the position, for I had a feeling that the Prima worked many long hours, which would get me away from Papa's wrath.

"Sir…I must think about it first…"

"You have until today to decide, Miss De Chagny."  
"Please…call me Madeline."

"Madeline," he echoes, going backstage.

Tremendous guilt overtook me as I made my way backstage with all the other performers. I didn't see where I was going when I bumped into a woman that I had seen two weeks ago.

"I'm sorry, Miss," I said politely.

"Oh, that's alright," she said, smiling, accepting my humble apology.

"Hey, you're the girl who got Prima Donna, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "But there are others who want the position, so I may not take it."

"You should, you would do an amazing job. You did great at your audition."

"Thanks, and so did you. But, isn't there a girl who should take the status of Prima…"

"Oh, you mean Mabel? Her voice is so raunchy it would make the most perfect ears bleed. She can't do Prima, not at all."

I suddenly remembered her voice, and quickly nodded. I hadn't remembered her too well.

"Oh, I forgot my manners. I'm Annabelle Winston, but people call me Anna," she says, extending her hand towards me.

"I'm Madeline, Madeline De Chagny."

"Nice to meet you, Madeline." We shake hands just as a tall man comes over.

"Anna, Madame Laurisse wants you to rehearse the final ballet number…"

The man was tall, with black curls, slightly olive skin, and boyish hazel eyes. He looked both like a mature man and an innocent little boy at the same time.

"Oh, Madeline, this is Henry, my husband." My eyes find the ring on her right hand, and I realize it's a wedding band.

"Hello, Miss," says Henry, taking my hand and kissing it.

"Hello, Henry, I'm Madeline. Pleased to meet you."

"As to you."

Anna looks at her husband. "Henry, I'm going to show Madeline around the Opera House, can you please tell Madame Laurisse I'll be with her in a moment?"

"Alright, Anna." They kiss and he leaves.

"Madeline, are you ready?"

"Yes, Anna."

The Opera House is huge, and so are it's rooms. Anna shows me the dancer's studio, where some of the ballet girls are practicing, high on pointe. The ballet master tells them to hurry, and their poor muscles must be overworked. The lounge had many fainting couches should they faint from many grueling hours of practice.

She showed me to her dressing room. It was lavender, with a large vanity, a closet and barre for practice. "Your dressing room is pretty, Anna."

"Thanks, Madeline. I bet yours will be, too."

"Miss Madeline!"

The sound of Frederick scares Anna. She jumps and puts her hand over her heart. Frederick keeps yelling my name frantically, as though it were life or death. I grab Anna's hand and take her with me to find Frederick.

"Frederick, what are you yelling about?" Mabel asks when we are over to him. Her voice shows her clear annoyance. She is probably upset that I got Prima.

"I need Madeline, Mabel—"

"I'm here, Frederick."

He hands me a letter. "Here you are, it's for you."

I open it and read it. Anna, who is behind me, must know who it's from, because she reads over my shoulder.

_Madeline,_

_Frederick will show you to your dressing room should you take your part. I hope you choose to do so._

_Master_

"Madeline, if you will come with me, I can show you."

"Alright, Frederick."

Mabel scoffs as Frderick leads me down many hallways into my dressing room. He opens the door and I stand in the midst of it.

The room was black, with gold accents. The vanity was white, and so were some of the couches. The closet was large, and clearly made to suit the wardrobe of a Prima Donna. The carpet was gold on a hardwood floor. Flowers were in a vase on a coffee table with soft chairs around it. On the celing is a small chandelier, and in the corner is a baby grand piano. But on the wall I stand in front of, there is a large mirror. It nearly takes up the space of the wall.

"Thank you, Frederick."

"Your welcome, Madeline."

Did I want this? Could I take the position? When he leaves, my mind is made up. I know that there is only one choice.


	9. The Rose and the Nightingale

The Rose and the Nightingale

**What has Madeline decided?**

**Note: I don't own the Rose and the Nightingale, but I did make changes to it to fit the story line. All rights to that go to Oscar Wilde and the original writers of the Fairy tale, and the other Phantom elements to ALW, Gaston Leroux, etc.**

After searching, I found the man I was looking for. Mr. Irmingham. He was seated in his office, looking over the newspaper. My book was still on his desk. I knew now what I must do.

"Mr. Irming—"

"Oh!" he jumps, frightened, as though I were a ghost. I smirk.

He looks over and sees me standing there in the doorway, elegantly leaning on the door frame. "Madeline, you scared me half to death!"

"I apologize, Mr. Irmingham," I said, even though it was quite hilarious to scare him out of his wits.

"Have you decided?" he asks impatiently.

"Yes, I have, and I would love to be your Prima Donna."

He smiles in satisfaction. "I knew you would come around to it, Madeline. Here is your script. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."

I head back to my dressing room and sit down on one of the fainting couches, and look down at the script. They must have been hand written, for in Master's elegant script is:

_The Rose and the Nightingale_

_Madeline De Chagny_

_Rosa_

I want to open my script when I hear a knock on the door.

"Madeline?"

It is Anna's silky voice beyond my door.

"Come in, Anna."

She enters, with her script in her arms. "Can I see your script, Madeline?"

"Of course, Anna."

I hand it to her and look at hers. On the front it says:

_The Rose and the Nightingale_

_Anna Winston_

_Violet_

"The Rose and the Nightingale?" she asks. She sits down next to me. "What do you think it's about?"

"I think I heard the fairy tale before," I say.

"You have?"

"My governess, my paid teacher, explained it to me. It was an old Persian fairy tale. It was about a nightingale that was lonely, and he could sing beautifully. He fell in love with the white rose, but they couldn't be together, for Allah had forbidden their love, because they were two different species. He would sing to her, and she wouldn't open her petals to him, even if she wanted to. But then, they consummated their love and thus, the red rose was born."

"Oh, that's so beautiful, Madeline."

"It was one of my favorite fairy tales as a child."

"Let's open our scripts."

When I opened it, I saw immediately who I was.

_Rosa-the white rose. Mother to Melody and daughter to Violet. _

Anna opened hers and smiled. "You get to play my daughter, Madeline," she said.

And there was her proof:

_Violet-the mother of Rosa. Grandmother to Melody. _

I looked down and saw one of the male leads:

_The Nightingale-a lonely songbird, and the lover of Rosa._

The other was another love interest of Rosa.

_Richard-Rosa's fiancé_

After looking at the characters, I decided to look through the songs when I heard a knock on my door. It was Trevor.

"Anna, Harry wanted to see you, and he sent me."

"Thank you, Trevor. I'll see you later, Madeline."

When she left, Trevor came in. "Hello, Trevor. Did you get any part?"

"I…I…got the male lead."

I gasp in shock. "Trevor, I knew you would. Have faith in yourself, please. With faith, you can do anything. You'll overcome grief. That's what my mother always told me."

He nods reluctantly. I ask him if I could have time alone to look over the script, and he agrees. "I'll see you later, Trevor," I say.

"Goodbye, Madeline."

I look over the Opera. It was in three Acts, with a Prologue. It was a beautiful story, and I knew it immediately since I had been told the fairy tale many times.

I thought about Mabel, who wanted the role of Rosa terribly. Maybe she wouldn't be good enough…

I hear a knock at my door, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Madeline?" It is Frederick. Master must need me. "Come in, Frederick." His voice was urgent, as though he was about to be skinned alive. "Madeline, Master would like to see you."

"Thank you, Frederick."

"Anytime, Mademoiselle."

I smiled at him. "Frederick?"

"Yes?"

"From now on, you can just send me a note, if you wish. You don't have to come directly to me, if it will be easier on you."

He contemplates the proposition. "Alright, Madeline, if you wish."

I nod in appreciation. What could Master want? He probably wanted to know if I accepted the position, I realize.

"Master?" I ask when I am in the doorway of his office.

"Madeline, did you take the position?" I knew he would ask this.

"Yes, I did."

"Good, good. I want to begin lessons with you as soon as I can."

"So do I, Master."

"I want to find your range today; we need to work up from your range."

"Alright."

He turns to me. "If it is difficult to sing a certain note, we'll stop there. Stand straight, and use your diaphragm. It will prevent your voice from cracking." I nod.

He goes over to that beautifully elegant black piano and hits middle C. I sing the note on the scale. He hits the sharp notes and my voice obeys, as though at the Master's every command…

I strain on E1, and Master stops me. "You did well, Madeline. Now we need to go lower. It will help me find your range."

I stop when he hits D4. Mama could hit a D5 and an E6, so I had almost the same range as her. I could feel the music lifting me, daring me to go higher, and to get rid of the barriers. With piano, I could accomplish that. With Master's help, I would accomplish this.

"Did I do alright, Master?"

"You did just beautifully, but your voice…it's untrained, and without properly being trained, it would…fail."

I instinctively put my hand to my throat. I needed his help, now. My voice was strong, and I inherited it from Mama, but I could feel the use of my throat more than my diaphragm. I would lose speech ability if this continued.

"We'll work on your voice, but believe me, Madeline, you can have Manhattan at your feet. You will be a beautiful singer."

"Thank you, Master. I'll try to come when I can, it's just…hard."

"I expect you to be on time, child. Remember that."

I nod. "Yes, Master."

"Master?"

He turns to face me so that I can see his face. His mask is of white porcelain, unlike his face, which has an olive tint to it. He is tall, imposing and regal. His black clothes add an air of mystery and utmost elegance to him. He is a mystery that cannot be solved.

"Wh-What made you choose _The Rose and the Nightingale _for an Opera?"

He pauses and thinks about the answer to the question. "I always loved the story. A love that was never meant to be, a beautiful story line for an Opera, don't you think? The white rose choosing darkness and music over her other lover. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing, it's just that my governess had always told me the story." I didn't add in that I had begged my mother to tell me the story every night.

* * *

_Miss Lillian was trying to get me to write cursive one day, something I struggled with. I was, what one would call overly intelligent for my age, but poor Miss Lillian struggled with getting me to write. It was Mama who had to intervene with that. I was nine, and Miss Lillian insisted I learn. "It is proper handwriting for a young lady," she'd say as I held the pen in my left hand. She hated that I was left-handed when I was little, but grew to accept it as I grew older._

"_Miss Lillian, can I please play the piano now?"_

"_After you practice your penmanship, Madeline."_

"_But Miss Lillian…"_

"_No buts, now begin writing."_

"_NO! YOU CANNOT MAKE ME!" My temper had taken control. Oh, poor Miss Lillian for having to put up with me! I'm sadly stubborn, even to this day. I had sat in my room, angrily striking the piano and writing a new piece. Sometimes, it felt like Miss Lillian didn't understand my need for music. It was as necessary as air, and sometimes only Mama, and surprisingly, Grandmother, understood that. _

_I had been writing notes when Mama and Miss Lillian knocked at my door. _

"_Shouldn't you be off with Papa, Mama?" I asked sarcastically. _

"_Mad—"_

"_Leave now or I'll never come out of this room, Mama. That I can promise you."_

_Ultimatums had always worked on Mama for some reason. Whenever I gave her one, she looked scared to death. I had sounded like a spoiled brat, but I needed to be alone. It was either that or I would lose my temper even more. And it worked. _

"_Madeline, I bet you don't want that story Miss Lillian was going to tell you. Let us come in or you'll never hear it." Whenever Miss Lillian told me a story, she was descriptive enough so that I could hear the music in my head to go along with it. It was a strange, yet beautiful gift that I loved to bear. So, naturally I loved Miss Lillian telling them to me. She was also a gifted story-teller, and her stories entranced me._

"…_Fine." I relented just as I finished the final note before the bridge section. _

_Mama and Miss Lillian enter the room as I put the score away. "I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry, Miss Lillian." _

"_We forgive you," Mama reassured quickly. Although she hated whenever I gave her such a proposition, she was always compassionate enough to forgive me. I always wondered why, but never asked her._

"_What is the story, Miss Lillian?"_

_I turn to my governess. She had hair that was blonde like Aunt Meg's and the same blue eyes, only her face was longer, more elegant, even though they were the same age. _

"_It's a love story, Madeline," Mama begins._

"_Oh."_

"_Yes, and in fact, it's an old Persian fairy tale."_

"_Really?"_

_Mama nods, smiling, although a small hint of sadness can be seen in her smile._

"_Would you like to hear it?"_

"_Yes, please, Miss Lillian."_

"_It's called the Rose and the Nightingale."_

"_Aren't Nightingales songbirds?" I inquire. I had heard a lark and a green finch, and a linnet bird, but never a nightingale._

"_Yes, they are."_

_She pauses and begins the tale._

"_Once upon a time, in a beautiful garden in Persia, there was a white rose. She was beautiful and innocent, and grew in a thorn bush."_

"_She lived there amongst the roses in the garden. There were pink, yellow, and white but never red," Mama explained._

"_Why?" I had asked, curious._

"_You'll see."_

_Miss Lillian picked up where Mama left off: "But one night, a nightingale came on a sycamore tree and he saw her and fell in love with her."_

"_But," Mama began, "they couldn't be together. Because she was a rose, and he was a nightingale, and they were two different species, so Allah forbade their union."_

"_However, he was persistent. He sang his most heartbreaking songs to her, and still her petals wouldn't open for the poor creature of the night."_

"_Was it just because he was a bird?" I asked innocently._

"_Well…he wasn't the prettiest bird. He could never find a mate amongst the nightingales because he was…ugly."_

"_Was he, Mama?" I ask, frightened at such a prospect._

"_Yes, and she still wouldn't open her petals to him, even though his songs we of darkness and night, and they moved her so," she explained._

"_But one night, she…opened them to him and he went to embrace her and got pierced by her thorns. He…died of blood loss."_

_Oh, poor, unhappy bird!_

"_Did she love him, even though he was ugly?"_

"_Yes, darling, she did, and…she loved him more than she would admit to herself." A sad, nostalgic look was in her warm brown eyes._

"_Well, I'd love someone, even if they were ugly."_

"_Good, Madeline. That's a beautiful way to think," Miss Lillian praised._

_Later that night, after Mama sang me a lullaby and nearly left the room, I asked for her._

"_Mama?"_

"_Yes, Madeline, do you need anything?"_

"_Do appearances matter, when you're in love?" I had been nine years old, a child. But I wanted to know what being in love was like._

"_No, Madeline. They don't. It's only what's in your heart that matters."_

"_Oh. Thank you, Mama."_

"_You're welcome. Goodnight, my angel." _

* * *

I stand before Master now, and smile at the memory. Mama told me it's only what's in the heart that matters and looking at Master makes me realize that the world didn't see him that way.

"When will we start rehearsals, Master?"

"Tomorrow, child. I expect you to be here."

"Yes, Master. You can count on that, believe me."

"Good. I always told my first student that, and she easily believed. I don't cooperate with students who don't take their craft seriously."

"I will, Master. I always wanted to sing, ever since I was little…" I didn't add in that Papa forbade Mama to sing in the house, almost as much as he forbade me to play piano.

Master idly shuffles papers and puts them neatly on a table.

"Madeline, why don't you go get settled…"

We hear footsteps, and Master immediately sits down at his desk, his back to me. Someone enters into the room. Mabel.

"Master, I want to talk to you about—"

She stops when she sees me. Her brown eyes narrow and darken. I stiffen my back, preparing her to shoot sparks of hatred at me. I could take the hit.

"Ah, well if it isn't the little _minx _who stole the lead role," she sneers. "Aren't you just a little rich girl?"

"You are Mabel, I presume."

"Oh, I see you are good at the guessing game, then."

"For your information, _mademoiselle_, I wasn't given the role due to my father's money. It came from true talent, which I can clearly see you lack."

"Ha!" she scoffs. "Are you sure you aren't referring to your—"

"_Enough_!" says Master, making Mabel jump. "Miss Mabel, what do you wish?"

"I wish that I receive the lead role of Rosa in our Opera, Master. I am runner-up to Prima Donna, you know."

"Yes, but you do not show enough responsibility to take on such a position. You are always off criticizing the ballet girls, are you not?"

Mabel turns as red as her hair. "Can't you consider it, sir?" she asks, fuming at his words.

"No, now be content with what you have or I will have you removed from this Opera House. That is clear, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," she says, defeated.

Just as she leaves, she hisses at me: "mark my words, De Chagny, Master will see who is better, I promise you."

I wanted to run after her as she left. Black rage was fuming inside me, and I could feel my blood burning in my veins with a yearning to show her what I was capable of. I would lose my cool…but this was in front of Master. So, I resigned to simply shooting my icy eyes at her.

"Ignore her," came Master's voice. I sighed, letting my anger disappear.

I knew he was right. I had anger problems ever since I was little, and I remembered the party where I nearly murdered my cousin. I couldn't ruin my reputation now, in front of my employer who could go from peaceful to merciless in a second. His voice had chilled my bones, although I dared not show it.

"Can we practice scales?" came my timid voice.

"If you wish."

We worked from C to D, stopping when he turned to me. "I want to work with you on this later, because I have things to critique with you. Your breathing in-between needs work, and so does your posture."

Was his criticism always this harsh?

"Go on now, child, I will see you for your first lesson soon."

With that, I simply left the Opera House, bidding Anna and Trevor a goodbye.

**What do you think the rehearsals will be like? Leave a review so I can see your opinions!  
**


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